Love,

Politics

By Chris Chrappa

In the world of politics only one thing is clear: no thing. Beginning perhaps in the Enlightenment (Voltaire, etc.)--certainly the moronism of humankind does not preclude it beginning earlier, say, with homo erectus--there spawned a notion of democratic societies where our good leaders were to be the distinguished recipients of "people's choice awards," that is to say, it became imperative that politicians actually speak to the people, the multitudes, or "Das Man" as Heidegger called them. I submit, right now, that the gnarled, vacuous bilge of political vomitus we are now accustomed to lamenting, and similarly accustomed to doing nothing about, is the inevitable Darwinian result of this democratic upsurge. For the sad fact is that three fourths of the masses are asses, and wondering whether it was our craven leaders who caused this, or rather our bubonic imbecility that made such leaders inevitable…my Jesus, that is a question for the ages, right up there with the chicken and her egg, Pegasus, and the round square cupola at Waverly.

To separate wheat from chaff is difficult enough with intimates and soulmates, and most of us treat even them like rivers of drunken memories bound to us by channels of frolic and alcohol---imagine then the Everest, nay, the Mars that such an insight into authenticity requires with presidential candidates, who, unlike intimates and soulmates, have a vested interest in lying, cheating, and generally keeping you as stupid as they are. So we have here, quite plainly, an icky sort of quagmire where we want with all of our cardiovascular Life Force to valorize decent sorts of people with strong character and good this and that…and by golly we really try our hearts out to do just that. But, being who we are (see definition of masses aforementioned), we ultimately just want to get on with things in general and toil away under illusions that are just narcotic enough to disguise the miserable reality beneath it all. Maxim for the masses: we live in two worlds: the world we think we live in, and the world we wish we lived in. From this, the only difference I can discern between a mass man and a politician is that a politician is all ass, four-fourths ass, inexorable ass, an assoisie: for he either genuinely believes that the world he thinks he lives in is the world he really lives in and that he can therefore make the wish-world come true--in which case he is mentally on a par with butterflies and Tipper Gore--or else he doesn't believe in either and still talks as though he does--in which case he is a two-bit hypocritical wind-machine, emotionally on a par with vultures, hyenas, and Al Gore. But let's not be too easy on them.

No one likes to think that their friends and pet politicians are dunderheads and character-vacuums: Reagan was a sweet guy if there ever was one; Nixon was grace in the flesh; Clinton was a smooth criminal with emphasis on smooth and criminal--need we mention dubya? The good ol' boy with an oh so refreshing messianic streak that just tickles the stupid bone? What about a step down? Rush Limbaugh? Movie stars? Kobe Bryant? Musicians? We'll pick and choose our favorite gallimaufry of idols from this melting pot, and then buy their posters, cd's, and books, and then watch them on t.v. in the latest rendition of lifestyles of the rich and famous (The Fabulous Life Of…, Cribs, Donald Trump's Show, Rich Girls, Paris Hilton, et alia), and then exchange nothings about them with our comrades, and then go back and do it all again.

And then we wonder why we keep winding up with cretins in charge of our taxes. The problem is massive. If you can't spot palpable inauthenticity in the people around you, and especially in yourself, then spotting it in politicians and Paris Hilton is about as feasible as politicians and Paris Hilton actually being authentic. That is, not feasible. Of course, I say all of this like it matters, which it really doesn't, at least if you're me and this whole circus provides you with such infinite amusement it's practically the only reason to go on living. But that by the way.

Finally there's facts. I love facts. Facts are neat, clean, and vapid. Having no time to think, or no intestines to face questions, we must segment and compartmentalize, break all the world up into bits of information, atoms really, until educating children is more or less tantamount to forced downloading and RAM feeding. Kids take tests. Tests, in fact, that are my pet abomination, to wit, multiple choice tests. Spit facts, eat facts, swallow facts, shit facts. Chit-chat facts: what percentage of men under the age of 32 lose 1/3 of their hair by the time they're between the ages of 14 and 27 and find this accompanied by penile dysfunction and cirrhosis of the liver? (I'm sure you'll find the answer somewhere, if not in the latest blockbuster, then on a barstool next to some pals swapping gossip). Little facts, big facts, slogan facts, party facts. We treat statistics like Deus sive Natura, and scientists like conduits to the sacred. Politicians merely recognize this fact--or else are a product of it--and exploit it, as Del said, "like ten year old centerfolds." Maxim for the masses: the only knowledge that counts is knowledge we can count [on].

My suggestions and truths: facts are for mindless slaves; the world we think we live in is a fact; therefore, we are mindless slaves…. Furthermore, politicians are reflections of the masses; the world we'd like to live in is determined by politicians; therefore, we are politicians.

Saper Aude! goes the saying. Until the saying goes.

----Chris for president.